Outside
by softsmiles
Summary: Eps of Sydney's life once out of re-education
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Richelle Mead owns the Bloodlines series.**

* * *

They have gotten her back from the Alchemists.

Finally.

At first, they can only hope that she is still okay. That she has stayed the same as when she was kidnapped four months ago. Adrian, most of all, fears that they have arrived four months too late. He wants to speak to her as soon as their impromptu crack team -consisting of the entire Palm Springs gang as well as Rose and Dimitri who have tagged along on their own will- manages to get her out, but she's unresponding. She's obviously passed out, and more than possibly drugged. Everyone is stealing glances at her small form, at her tattered clothes and at the bones sticking out that make her look awfully skinny, almost sickly, from their respective seats in the mini-van they're in. Jill oozes nervousness next to Eddie, whose uncertainty has replaced his usual expressionless guardian mask on his face. Angeline, Neil, Rose and Dimitri are crammed in the front seats, inspecting the roads they are passing through for possible threats in full guardian mode.

Adrian hovers over her, worry etched deep in his features, in the crease of his brow and in the downward tilt of his mouth. He wishes to heal her, but there are no physical wounds on her as far as he can tell, and he can't exactly take away the drugs in her body, so all he can do is wait. Wait and hope.

At last she wakes up.

She's still worn out by the drugs and he can feel the exhaustion radiating from her. He can see it in her eyes, her beautiful, golden eyes, that don't shine like they used to. The spark-and-glint has almost entirely vanished. It's because of the drugs. It's because of the hardships. It's because she hasn't realized what's going on. Adrian repeats the words to himself, over and over, like a mantra and then like a prayer and he's trying to force himself to believe them, but it's so hard when she's lying in the backseat, her head on his lap and her half-closed eyes so passive. She makes no move to get up. She lies there, still as a statue, her gaze averted from his, unmoving. She's staring at the roof of the van, but is not really looking at it, that much he can tell.

Seeing her like that makes his chest constrict and his breath hitch, but it's the uncertainty of the situation that breaks his heart. His hope that everything was going to be alright when they'd finally have her back is fading by each passing moment. He shouldn't have let this hope get the best of him, because now he can feel desperation crawling up to him, slowly but steadily. His throat tightens with each breath he takes, each tear he doesn't dare shed.

When he can't take it anymore, when he can sense the silence and stillness driving him mad, he reaches out and touches her hair. His toucn is featherlight, reverent, and at first she doesn't even feel it. He knows, because when he twirls a strand around his finger, she realizes what he's doing. Her body tenses up. Her eyes never move, but her shoulders stiffen. She doesn't say anything, though. He doesn't know if it's for the better or for the worse. He strokes her hair, softly, tentatively, putting as much affection as he can in the simple gesture. Physically touching her after so long has a soothing effect on him. Watching his hand move back and forth proves to be surprisingly calming.

Yet, she doesn't relax. She keeps her posture firm, the stiffness of her limbs intact. It scares him so much. It feels like her fiery spirit has been crushed. Like his flame in the dark has burned out. Like only the ashes of what she once was remain. He knows that spirit is only making everything so much worse. His thoughts are dark and hopeless, but he can't go into that black world of his right now. He has to be stronger than that. For her.

When she finally speaks, her words startle him. They encourage him and discourage him and they cause a hurricane of emotion to stir up inside him. Her voice is monotonous and tired, but he can hear the confusion, the hesitation and the fear. He has missed hearing it so much that a fresh wave of emotion seizes his heart. Her eyes shift to his. She says, "Adrian."

He lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding. At least she remembers him. She remembers them.

"Please, don't hurt me." Her voice is still dull and soft and quiet, but he can see the slight wetness of her eyes. "Please, don't bite me. Don't let them hurt me, either. Please." Her lower lip trembles, and the tiniest bit of emotion has crawled into her tone. Her eyes betray her the most, wide and fearful.

"I won't. Sydney, I swear that I won't let them hurt you. No one will ever hurt you from now on." He's trying to reassure her as much as he's trying to reassure himself. The look she gives him is disbelieving as much as it is hopeful, like she can't quite trust that he will stay true to his word, despite wanting to. It must have been hard, being torn so badly between who her heart and mind tell her to trust, he thinks to himself. So he tries again. "Really. Sage. You're safe now. You're with us. How could you even think that we could hurt you?" he asks.

The sincerity of his voice must have somehow shone through, because, surprisingly, she offers him a tentative smile that wobbles so much from her effort to hide her feelings, that it pains him. He offers her his hand, slowly and cautiously, as if towards a scared animal who might run away. She moves her hand and puts it on top of his just as slowly, hesitantly. The feeling of her skin touching his after so long is freeing and burning. It is pure joy, creating a form of happiness in him he didn't think possible after everything he's been through. He marvels at the way their hands fit together, her tiny fist curled into his long fingers. He pulls her up and entwines their fingers, so that their hands are palm to palm. The touch feels electric to him, and he turns his head to see if she feels it too.

He finds her staring at their combined hands, a different kind of wonder filling her features. Like she's only now realizing that what is happening is not a dream. She turns to him again.

"Tell me it's real."

"It's real," he replies emphatically, attempting to diminish every last trace of doubt from her mind.

"Promise me you won't bite me."

"Sydney, you must know-"

"Promise me," she insists stubbornly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I promise," he says solemnly. And then he tugs at her hand and he pulls her against him. "Is that okay?" he asks, just to make sure.

Instead of replying, she pushes herself as close to him as possible and clutches the back of his shirt so hard he's sure her knuckles have turned white. She puts her head in the crook of his neck and inhales. When she exhales, her breath sounds ragged and her body shakes with silent sobs. He can sense her relief, almost palpable in the restricted space the backseat offers. She presses her mouth close to his ear and murmurs to herself, "It's real. It's real. It's real," so quietly, again and again and again. Then, "Don't hurt me. Don't you ever hurt me. Don't let what they said about you be true," she pleads, her voice choked.

"Never," he replies. He pulls back so that he can see her face.

"Never," he repeats.

He savors her hopeful expression and the renewed light in her eyes, her eyes that he has been painting from memory for the past four months. But they are so much more beautiful when they are right in front of him. They steal his breath and his words and his thoughts and he can't bear the thought of losing them ever again. He stares at them, through them, in them and he's lost, so far gone that he doesn't notice her moving forward until after her lips have touched his.

The kiss is quick and closed-mouthed and so sweet he feels all the love he has for her swelling into him. She curls into his side and he puts his arms around her. He looks over her shoulder, at Jill and Eddie, who are smiling encouragingly at him, and gives them a slight nod.

She is going to be okay. He already feels okay. Everything is fine.

"Oh, Sydney. The center held."

* * *

A/N: So. My first fanfiction ever. Constructive criticism is GREATLY appreciated- seriously, I can't say this enough. Be as harsh as you want to and tell me what's wrong with the pacing, the characters' voices, the dialogue etc.. If you liked it, I'm glad. If you didn't, please point out some or all of the stuff you disliked so I can get better. THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

When the question of where she is going to be staying is posed, Adrian immediately chimes in to say, rather decisively, that this question is meaningless.

Of course she'll be staying with him. Of course.

She puts up a half-hearted fight, saying that she will be a bother, that maybe she should stay on her own for a while, but in truth she wants this more than anything. Living with Adrian. Sleeping with Adrian. Waking up with Adrian. The fact that she is still very much an escapee and her mind is still a jumbled mess with seeds of doubt and fear planted here and there kind of ruin the mood, but. Going with him feels like a long lost dream that is finally coming true. She hasn't felt what she feels now for so long she almost doesn't recognize the foreign thing that courses through her.

Hope.

So she hesitantly rolls with the suggestion, hoping that this plan will actually work.

The house is probably temporary, but they are on the run, after all, so they will leave it sometime soon anyway. It's close enough to the Moroi Court to offer them some semblance of protection. Not close enough to make Sydney feel scared or uncomfortable. The progress she'd made on the subject of living next to vampires has been seriously thrown back because of reeducation. It feels like, two steps forward, one step back. She shudders when she thinks of what she'd have been like after only a few more months of being brainwashed if they hadn't gotten her out.

Thank God they did, is the only thing she can think of.

* * *

"Can I not sleep in here tonight?" she asks him on their first night back together, hands tangling together in a nervous gesture, hesitant, uncomfortable and a tiny bit scared of his reaction. Her gut's telling her he'll understand why she can't sleep next to him just yet. Her mind is too preoccupied screaming, _vampire vampire vampire._ She knows the vile thoughts are the Alchemists' doing, so she pushes them aside and tries to ignore them as best as she can. It will probably take a while for her to return back to how she used to be, but she knows it will be worth it.

For now, she just stares at him expectantly and waits.

He knows what she is asking of him immediately. He gets her, as usual.

"You don't have to do that, Sydney. I won't hurt you. I won't even touch you. I just need," he swallows heavily, "I just need you to be close tonight." He's asking too much of her and he knows it, as she knows that if she doesn't budge, he'll let her do whatever she wants.

She doesn't budge.

"I need some space. At least for tonight. It's too much too soon and I- I hope you understand my reasoning for doing this-" the way she's speaking reminds her painfully of the robotic voice in her cell, and that does it. Uninvited images fill her brain- of scarlet blood, _her _scarlet blood, running down her neck, slippery and disgusting and filled with unwanted endorphins, of white, sharp fangs covered in scarlet blood, _her _scarlet blood, and still hungry, so, so hungry for her blood, of the voice filling her cell, telling her what to do, of her doing what she was told-

Suddenly, even standing upright feels like too much effort. She grits her teeth and holds her ground. She is a warrior and she won't budge.

"It's what I want for tonight. And that's that." It's not a plea; it's a statement.

He seems slightly hurt by her words, but still says, "I'll set up the couch for me. You go lie down on the bed. Get some rest."

She smiles faintly, gratefully at him,

"goodnight, Adrian," she whispers,

and goes.

* * *

Sometime around midnight, the first scream erupts.

Adrian wakes up, terrified and so, so sure it's him the screaming's coming from- nightmares haven't been a rare occurence for the past four months- but then he sits up straight, the sleepy haze in his head dissolving almost immediately.

The sound is coming from the bedroom and the source of it is unmistakably Sydney. His heart beats wildly, agonizingly fast against his ribcage. He rids himself of the bedcover and stands up so quickly he almost trips over. He rushes to the bedroom and when he opens the door, the sight before him breaks his heart all over again.

She's thrashing violently, her fists clenching spastically the white sheets on her sides, sweat obvious all over her face and collarbones. And her face. Oh her face. Her mouth is still half-open, caught mid-scream, her eyes shut painfully tight, her chest heaving with sobs. Her expression is a canvas of emotions - all of them bad. Terror mixed with fright and disgust and absolute, mindnumbing horror. He never wants to know what kind of nightmare is currently being reenacted in her head, but at the same time he wants her to tell him everything that's happened to her, even if it kills him.

For now, he simply runs to her side and touches her burning forehead tenderly. Her stiff stance loosens up some and those gut-wrenching screams cease almost completely, but she keeps twitching on the bed, mumbling incoherent words in her sleep, breathing in short gasps, distress written all over her. He climbs onto the bed, lies next to her and takes her in his arms. He strokes her hair and kisses her tear-streaked cheeks and swallows back the sob that rises in his throat and whispers in her ear that he loves her and that she's safe and pleads her to wake up, to open her eyes, to come back to him,

(shhhh-shh-it's okay, it's okay)

and he strokes and kisses and swallows and whispers whispers whispers for what feels like forever, until her hands reach for him blindly and fist the front of his shirt and her breathing quiets down and her body relaxes against him and he can breathe again.

He doesn't leave the bed.

* * *

They don't talk about it in the morning, not really, but he looks at her and he knows that she knows what happened and he can see the unspoken gratitude shining in her eyes before she gets up and disappears in the bathroom.

(She never wants to sleep without him again.)

And every night, as they lie next to each other, engulfed in darkness and in safety, he chases away the nightmares and kisses away her tears. She doesn't scream in her sleep anymore.

The person she's been scraping her throat raw for to come and get her lies right beside her.

She hopes he always will.

* * *

A/N: You're all so sweet! I mean, God, 10 reviews on my first story? Now _that _was unexpected. And each and every one of them was so cute and nice and you're all lovely. And you also gave me the motivation I needed to keep writing, so I proudly present you Chapter 2 (which I haven't thoroughly proofread so mistakes might be noticed- you're welcome to tell me so I can fix them.) Again, thank you for the reviews and favorites and follows and I'm rambling but I'm just too happy to care. See you in Ch3.


	3. Chapter 3

Every night, before they go to sleep, Sydney spends a good two hours out at the apartment' s balcony, just wordlessly staring up at the moon and stars.

At first he finds it strange - she's never had that kind of fascination with the night sky before - but after a while it becomes less weird and more endearing, the way she's made it out to be her standard nightly ritual. It's always the same.

She starts by bringing- well, dragging, really- the heavy reclining chair out of the living room and onto the balcony. Then, she picks out a book she likes - he notices it's always some nice, cute story, preferably one where the characters get their happy ending - she has grown to avoid gruesome, sad stories by all means - makes herself a cup of tea and lies down on her chair. After that, she mostly just stays still for hours, eyes cast upwards, her book long forgotten in her lap, a look of utter contentment on her face. He thinks she's adorable like this, lips slightly turned up in a real smile that makes her entire face glow and softens her features.

After a while, he takes a habit of joining her. When he brings out his own chair for the first time, she just glances at him curiously and smiles wider. His heart flutters at the sight, and he thinks to himself that he could watch her smile for an eternity and never get tired of it.

During the first couple of weeks, this is their routine before they retreat to the bedroom; Sydney's gaze glued to the stars, Adrian's gaze glued to Sydney. He loves the way her eyes shine, he loves the way the moon illuminates her pale skin,he loves the way her blonde hair frames her face, he loves the way she curls her legs underneath herself, he loves her.

Sometimes, she lowers her eyes and looks at him just as these thoughts cross his mind, as if she's somehow sensed them lurking in his head. She can read him so damn well, he feels exposed around her. Exposed in the best way possible. Every flaw and thought and word transparent for her to see. And he wants that as much as he needs it. This perfect, complete communication between them.

Then, one day, she asks him seemingly nonchalantly, her gaze still trained on the stars,

"Would you come over here already? You're always so far away at night."

Her voice is just the tiniest bit off; she sounds normal, almost jocular, but her tone is somewhat distant. Her mind isn't wholly in the here and now.

He's gotten used to it, but he still worries about it. About her. He just can't help it. He knows she's strong, strong and stubborn, but her stubborness is preventing her from discussing whatever it was these bastards did to her in reeducation -not only because it's hard for her to talk about it, but also because she fears she might seem weak in front of him. He knows this instinctively, understanding her like only he can. How she could ever become weak in his eyes is beyond his comprehension- she's quite literally the toughest, most strong-willed person he knows. He's always believed that.

He gets up from his own chair and approaches her much more comfortable one. She scoots aside and makes place for him to sit beside her. He lies all the way back and looks at his side, where Sydney is watching him the same way she's been staring at the stars all this time; awestruck and loving. He returns the intensity of her look, and then holds out his hands in a silent invitation.

She thinks about it for a moment, and then moves carefully over him. She tangles her legs with his, loops her hands around his neck and burrows her head in his chest.

"Better now?" he asks.

"Much," she replies before moving her head a little to the left. She places a soft kiss right on top of his beating, racing heart.

And then she does it again,

again,

(her breath fanning accross his chest)

again,

(the heat reaching him over layers of clothing)

again,

(him raising his limp hands from his sides to run them through her hair)

again,

(suddenly he's ready to burst because she's here with him and she's almost normal and it's not some crazy dream or a hallucination and her solid body placed on top of him is really her, it's Sydney, his Sage, and why is his heart about to explode)

again,

one last time,

(his heart rate increasing more and more because of the simple contact,

slamming against his ribs,

caged into his bones,

trying desperately to reach out to her).

His arms move from her hair to her waist as she adjusts her position so that her head fits in the crook of his neck and she can still see the stars in her periphery of vision.

It's perfect.

* * *

"I didn't think I'd ever see the stars again. _In this lifetime,_ I kept thinking to myself, _you will never again see the night sky_. And I thought it was so unfair."

She blinks rapidly, evidently trying to hold back tears, and his arms tighten around her, shielding her from invisible threats.

"In a way, never seeing your face again felt... not deserved, exactly... but it seemed reasonable. To their eyes, I had sinned, and that was how they'd punish me. But... why wouldn't they let me see the sun, feel its warmth on my skin, have the wind whip my hair, let me gaze at the stars?"

_Because they're assholes, _he wants to say, but refrains from it, choosing to let her let out whatever she wants to tell him instead.

"They had me in this... this windowless, tiny room... and I wanted to get out so badly..."

He starts stroking her hair softly, tenderly, and murmurs, "you're out now."

She looks up at him, a sad look crossing her features. "I'd had these awful thoughts... That they could let me go outside, let me see everything for one last time, and then they could kill me, and I would die happy-" her voice breaks as she utters the last words, and his heart breaks as he hears her saying them. "I'm not proud of this," she adds quickly. "I'm not. I shouldn't have lost my hope, not for a second, or my faith that you'd help me get out. But it was so difficult at times-"

"I know. I know. I understand," he says reassuringly as he runs his hands through her hair. He twists his head to the side so he can place a sweet kiss on her forehead. "You've been so strong, and I'm so proud of you."

She throws him a watery smile and strokes his cheek with her fingertips.

"I love you so much," she whispers. And then, her voice made forcefully light, "Escape plan number sixty four: buy a telescope and put it to good use."

"My God, have you lowered your standards lately. Remembered when you suggested we go to Sweden and Fiji?" he teases her.

"Hey, these were _your _suggestions! Don't put words into my mouth, Adrian Ivashkov," she warns him jokingly, mock-agitated.

"Or what?" he challenges daringly.

"Or I'll have to shut your mouth by force."

"And how exactly are you planning to-"

She steals any more words he has to say by firmly pressing her lips on his, effectively silencing him.

It's the best kind of silence, he thinks as he kisses her back with equal fervor. He wouldn't even dream of complaining.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the support and the positivity! Your reviews make me smile so much! (Constructive criticism is much appreciated, of course.) Just wanted to say, this chapter is set quite some time after the second one. I'll come back to fill the time gap I've left unwritten in the next chapters, probably. So, see you in Ch4.


End file.
